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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22393954">hold me at night. tell me we are going to be alright</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves'>for_the_love_of_wolves</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>FitzSimmons AUs [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Reunion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 08:47:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,403</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22393954</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz returns from war. He doesn't really expect anyone waiting for him. But his best friend Jemma is there. Their reunion is bittersweet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>FitzSimmons AUs [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1120386</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hold me at night. tell me we are going to be alright</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springmagpies/gifts">Springmagpies</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Maggie @springmagpies, who is a lovely person and an amazing writer. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>England 1946. </strong>
</p><p>It’s spring and the air flickers above the train reaching its final destination after long days of moving slowly through valleys and shattered cities. The old engines are panting, and wheels are screeching. With a final huff that sounds exhausted, the train stops completely, exhaling a cloud of steam. </p><p>The train station is crowded. The people waiting – a lot of women and children, as well as some elderlies – are whispering to each other anxiously, their eyes focused on the train. Some of them are holding posters, with names written on them.</p><p>When the doors finally open and the train spills out a new fresh load of surviving soldiers, the air soon is filled with screams of joy and relief, with people calling out names and running towards each other crying, sinking to the ground in tight embraces.</p><p>Fitz is one of the last ones to exit the train. He’s glad to leave the boiling smothery inside. When he finally has two feet on solid ground, he closes his eyes, raises his face to the sky and inhales the fresh earthy air deeply. Smells like home.</p><p>After having been in foreign countries for so long, it’s soothing to see the deep green hills of Scotland and hear the familiar accent all around him.</p><p>He looks around, the reunion scenes in front of him wonderful yet bittersweet. There isn’t anyone waiting for him. He expected it. And yet … It’s kind of strange, to stand here all alone while everyone around him is reaching for their loved ones.</p><p>Fitz feels kind of lost. He nervously fumbles with the buttons of his uniform – God. He can’t wait to pull the blasted thing off his skin … and thinks about what to do, his mind strangely numb. For the last few years, he has been told what to do every moment of the day. He has been told where to go, where to sleep – even where to take a piss. Now there’s no one shouting his name followed by an order. Now the war that seemed to go on endlessly is over and it’s just him.</p><p>Fitz grabs his duffel bag and sighs, preparing to leave the train station. He guesses he’s going to return to his childhood home. His mother died before the war even started – which, as horrible as that sounds, maybe was for the best. It would have broken her heart to see him leave, to think he might never return – and his father died at the front. No other known relatives. He also doesn’t really have friends, since he’s been shy his whole life. Well. There has been someone … Someone who has been pretty important to him. But he hasn’t heard from her for so long. He doesn’t dare to hope. Because it would hurt too much, to realize the truth. The war made him lose a lot of things. He rather doesn’t want to know if he lost this one too.</p><p>But just when he’s about to start walking, to leave the train station, a small voice behind him asks, “Fitz?”</p><p>He freezes. This voice … He knows it. He hasn’t heard it for so long. But … How could he ever forget it? Can it really be? Just after he thought of her? Just when he forbade himself to hope? He slowly turns around. He has to check …</p><p>And there she is. She’s looking at him wide-eyed, clutching a purse to her chest. She exhales a heavy sigh. “God. It’s you. I … God. <em>Fitz</em>.”</p><p>He blinks. His mind still doesn’t seem to be ready to think this is reality. Maybe he’s just dreaming and he will wake up in some trench in France, surrounded by invisible enemies. But the picture in front of his eyes doesn’t disappear.</p><p><em>She</em> doesn’t disappear.  </p><p>Jemma …</p><p>His best friend. His … God. He can’t believe it. His mind shows him flashes of memories. They are clear as day.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>“Leo Fitz. Engineering.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Jemma Simmons. Biochemistry.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They meet on the first day at university. And Fitz is transfixed. Jemma is … He doesn’t even have words for how he feels in her presence. She’s beautiful. Smart. Kind. Fitz has always had difficulties talking to other people. He has been bullied at school for the stuttering that overcame him when he had to do oral exams or group works. But with Jemma, it’s different. He feels comfortable in her presence quickly. His stuttering stops and he can talk to her for hours. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They are partners and then they are friends. Life seems to work out well for once, Fitz thinks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Until it doesn’t.<br/>
<br/>
</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>“I don’t want you to go to war, Fitz,” Jemma says on a chilly autumn day. They are sitting on a bench under a cherry tree. Jemma made the sandwich. The one she knows Fitz can’t resist. Prosciutto, mozzarella, and a hint of pesto aioli. Jemma’s eyes are sparkling with unshed tears and she is pale.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fitz wishes he could tell her not to worry. But it would be a lie. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Things are getting worse and they already know there is going to be a war. A war, undoubtedly even more brutal than the last one. It hovers over them like a threatening demon, waiting in the shadows, ready to attack them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t want to go either,” Fitz says, looking down at his shoes. Don’t be a coward. Man up! His father’s voice echoes in his head. But it doesn’t reach his heart. His heart knows the truth. He’s terrified. He’s terrified and he doesn’t want to shoot anybody. He doesn’t want to see his dreams for the future dying somewhere on a battlefield. He feels helpless. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jemma shakes her head. “I can’t believe this is happening. Now. To us. I wish I could do something!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I know,” Fitz says quietly. “I feel the same.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They still hope. Hope things will work out. Nothing is lost yet. But their hope is destroyed when only a few days later, Great Britain declares war on Germany. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Fitz wishes he could tell Jemma the truth before he leaves. He wishes he could tell her how his heart beats faster whenever she’s close and how his stomach feels like a dozen butterflies were set free in it. He wishes he could tell her how much he wants to kiss her lips, hold her close, feel her warmth. But he isn’t even brave enough to do that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There’s a ceremony at the university for the leaving soldiers. Everyone is quiet. There’s no laughter, no exuberant dancing like usual. The men walk around in their uniforms, while their girlfriends cling to them, their mouths thin grim lines. Everyone is young and scared. Everyone feels like being trapped in the wrong time and place. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fitz searches for Jemma in the crowd. She sees her standing in a corner, talking to Milton, one of their fellow students. Milton leans into Jemma’s space and whispers something. Jemma laughs, her cheeks flushed a lovely rose pink. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fitz’s stomach drops. He stops dead, not knowing what to do. He watches as Jemma takes a sip of red wine and strokes her hair back, how she also leans closer towards Milton, her honey-coloured eyes sparkling. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jemma … </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fitz doesn’t know how to deal with the amount of feelings raging inside him. Tomorrow, he’s going to leave home. He’s going to join the army as an engineer – they discovered his value and apparently aren’t too eager to waste his talent at the frontlines. But there are enough other ways to die in this war. – and doesn’t know if he’s ever going to return. And there is the woman he loves, flirting with another man, not knowing what her best friend feels for her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fitz imagines going to them and shoving Milton away. But what would that change? He’s going to be gone soon. Milton too. Their life here is over. He can’t tell Jemma. Not now. Not when they are going to be separated for maybe forever. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>So Fitz just sits at a table alone, drinking a beer and listening to the music, imagining he would dance to it with Jemma. Maybe in another universe... </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She comes to him eventually, sitting opposite him. “Fitz,” she says softly. “Are you alright?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah,” he says. Because what else is he supposed to say? “Of course.”</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>“Fitz,” Jemma says again.</p><p>Fitz stares at her.</p><p>Time passes around them, uncaring.</p><p>She sniffs.</p><p>And Fitz can’t do it anymore. He opens his arms. Jemma exhales a sob and runs, bumping against him. All of a sudden, she’s all around him. He inhales her scent, feeling tears prickling in his eyes. She clings to him, her hands restlessly moving over his back, as if she’s trying to assure herself that he’s there.</p><p>Her tears are soaking the fabric of his uniform. “I … I didn’t know how to reach you. I wrote you letters. But … they always came back. And in the end, I wrote them and kept them in my drawer, Fitz … I’m so glad to see you. I … There wasn’t a day I didn’t think of you. And then I came her every day, hoping you will return. But you never came. And ... And I thought …”</p><p>She doesn’t finish the sentence. But Fitz knows the words. <em>I thought you were dead.</em></p><p>“I’m here,” he says softly. He cups her face in both hands and stares into her shiny eyes. “I’m here.”</p><p>“You are,” she breathes. “You really are … Are you … Are you alright?”</p><p>Fitz hesitates. For so long, his answer to this question has always been yes. But he changed. Things changed. The things he’s seen in those last years. The things he <em>did</em>. They marked him. His body and mind. His heart. And he longs for something soothing the open wounds he’s carrying around with him.</p><p>“No,” he says. “Not really.”</p><p>Jemma nods slowly. “Me neither,” she breathes. “Uhm. I have rented a room here. It’s nothing special. It's small. The heating is broken and it gets really cold at night. And one window is shattered, because a … a bomb hit the house beside it. But … It’s something.”</p><p>“Okay,” Fitz says. He doesn’t care how the place looks like, as long as Jemma's there. </p>
<hr/><p>The place is cold and dark, but Jemma has some food. Good food. Not stale, dry bread, but proper white bread with some cheese. Fitz is practically inhaling it and Jemma watches him with a smile lingering around the corners of her mouth.</p><p>She tells him things while he’s eating.</p><p>Tells him, what happened while he was away.</p><p>Bombs, raining down in the middle of the night. Severely injured people sobbing and screaming in the infirmary, where she tried to help as much as she could. Pictures of the frontlines making her cry. The terror of not knowing.</p><p>Milton is dead. He died in one of the last battles in Germany. A lot of other of their former fellow students didn’t make it. One of Jemma’s best friends, Susan, died in an air raid.</p><p>Jemma eventually can’t continue talking and Fitz holds her, while she’s crying.</p><p>“I just wished I’d knew what happened to you,” she whispers into the crook of his neck, rubbing at her eyes. "I missed you so much."</p><p>Fitz rubs her back. He’s never been so close to her for so long. It feels nice. “I wished I’d know where you were and how you’ve been too. You know, for a long while, things weren’t even that bad. I wasn’t involved in any fighting at all. I repaired a lot of stuff. Like vehicles. Weapons. But things got worse. I knew it was bad, when the first of our comrades arrived in the camp wounded. When some never returned at all. I … I was shot at. A few times. One time, the bullet hit my shoulder.” He shows her the place and Jemma gasps, stroking over it with a finger carefully. “Oh Fitz,” she murmurs.</p><p>“Yeah. Well. We had to move very fast one day, when the enemy was close. One of my comrades was hit right beside me and fell. It was … I had to leave him behind and get away.” Fitz shudders. He feels sick to his stomach. “There was more. But … I can’t … I …” He stops, swallowing around the thick lump that seems to be stuck in his throat. His healed wounds are aching in phantom pain. The place at his back, where shrapnel hit him. His head, which he hit on a rock while scrambling to get away from a grenade.</p><p>Jemma covers his hand with hers. “It’s alright. You don’t have to talk about it now." She sighs heavily. "God. Fitz. I’m so tired. Do you think, we can ever get back to normal after this?”</p><p>Fitz shrugs. “I don’t know. I … I’m just glad you’re here. Are we going to ... to stay together?” He asks hopefully.</p><p>Jemma looks at him, her eyes wide. “Of course, Fitz. You’re my best friend in the world.”</p><p>And for some reason, maybe because he’s hurting and everything’s gone to hell anyway, it just bursts out of him. “Yeah. Well. You are more than <em>that</em>, Jemma.”</p><p>Jemma inhales sharply. She blinks and backs away a bit, staring at him.</p><p>Fitz is just about to apologize, when she breathes, “Thank God. I ... I didn't dare to - Oh. <em>Fitz</em>,” and reaches for him. They kiss. It’s heaven to feel her lips on his. To feel her warmth all around him. He puts his hand on the back of her head and never wants to let her go again.</p><p>They kiss desperately. And maybe they should talk instead. About what this - what they - are, but Fitz doesn't find the strength to care. They are alive. Together. And his heart is burning. </p><p>Later, he doesn’t even know how they managed to get into the narrow bed. They are laying on it, spooning, and even though the coldness of the night is sharp, they feel warm. The world is outside. They are not caring about it anymore, for they found a save place in each other.</p><p>Jemma reaches for Fitz’s hand, intertwining their fingers.</p><p>“Hold me,” she whispers. It’s a plea. “Just hold me and tell me we are going to be alright … Please, Fitz.”</p><p>He nods and pulls her close to him, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pressing his face against her neck. “We are going to be alright.”</p>
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